


Love is Blind, or at least, in need of Spectacles.

by thelaziesthufflepuff



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, atobe provides good service always, meanwhile tezuka gets new spectacles, the winner of the best employee award is always him, they are getting there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelaziesthufflepuff/pseuds/thelaziesthufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tezuka's glasses are broken, and Atobe is the entirely too helpful staff that doesn't stop smiling at him for some reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is Blind, or at least, in need of Spectacles.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by MathiasHyde: AtoTez Optometrist AU
> 
> Hope you guys like it! This is the full (fuller) version.
> 
> Leave kudos and comments if you liked!

Tezuka sighs, gingerly rubbing the bridge of his nose, where a new red mark made itself at home after he collided with a group of teenage boys from the neighborhood (Seigaku, he reads from their sports jerseys, tennis club, what a coincidence). They had taken one look at his face and promptly quailed, bowing rapidly in apology before running like the wind ( _he’s a teacher you know **that one**_ ), but all the apologies in the world couldn't magically fix his glasses, which had twisted at the ends and a cracked lens, and gave him a headache if he tried to put them on for more than five minutes.

It is desperation that drives him to the nearest spectacle shop (and Oishi literally driving him there- he couldn’t drive in this state, and it would be careless and wholly irresponsible for him to try), and as he thanked Oishi for the ride, he couldn’t help noticing the sheer gaudiness of the spectacle store. From the glass doors he could see chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, their lights twinkling merrily on the customers who were busy trying out the massive selection of spectacles on display, their exclamations of delight audible even through the glass door.

He has a bad feeling about this, this spectacle shop seems more like a high class jewelry store filled with people, but Oishi has already driven off to fetch Kikumaru from dance practice, and Inui had sworn on his data that this was the best spectacle shop in the area, after comparing everything from services offered to prices, to range of spectacle designs and the enjoyment driven from purchases, as well as how environmentally friendly the shop was.

Tezuka steps in and casts a critical look at the giant chandeliers hanging from the tall ceiling, the plush carpeted floor that his feet were standing on, and the gleaming display counters filled with new glasses shining brightly, where a huge group of women were crowding around ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ over the displays, and wondered if Inui was pulling his leg.

He would have left, but Oishi was long gone and he did not want to squint all the way home, so he carefully approaches a reasonably deserted counter (the store was full of people, mostly women, and they can’t all be here for glasses could they?) and sits on an empty stool, waiting for someone, anyone to help him, while looking at the many designs on display.

"Can I help you with something?" Tezuka looks up at the sound of a new voice, and sees a man wearing a finely tailored suit that probably costs more than an entire year of his teaching salary (a suit, his mind states disbelievingly, he is wearing a suit to work in a spectacle shop, even if it does suit the man very well like a second skin- he cuts that thought off before it gets bigger, he’s not going  _there_  now out of all times), and squints to better see his face. He is greeted by blond hair and blue eyes, and a smile that was entirely too charming for his comfort.

"I need a new pair of spectacles, perhaps you could repair my old one too?" Tezuka reaches for his spectacle case that houses the remains of his trusty spectacles, the longest relationship he has ever had other than his bonsai Marilyn, who was turning fourteen this year.

The man takes one look at the wreckage that was Tezuka’s spectacles and raises his eyebrow.

"Of course we can. A repair job is of no consequence for Atobe’s Eye Emporium, but are you sure you want to repair it? You are better of getting a new pair." He gestures to the neat rows of glasses gleaming underneath pristine counters, who were currently scrubbed clean periodically by another staff with short dark brown hair.   

"Yes, I am sure. I would like to get a new pair too." Tezuka adds, remembering that it was his lack of replacements that got him into this state, and he decides to kill two birds with one stone. 

"Excellent!" If Tezuka thought the smile the man gave was charming before, it was nothing compared to the one he gave him now. It made his cheeks heat up and he hurriedly looked at the displays, pretending to search for a suitable frame. 

"Here, I think these ones suit you." The man selects a couple of frames and carefully puts them on a tray for Tezuka’s perusal, and to Tezuka’s surprise, they do suit him, simple oval spectacles with a metal rim, several of them with half-frames, none of the bolder designs were even on the tray. He is pleased.

"I would like this one," Tezuka picks a pair that looks very similar to the one he already has, and the man probably expects it if the sign he let out was any indication. 

"Alright, but in my opinion, you should consider getting contact lenses. Your eyes are astonishingly beautiful and should not be hidden by spectacles, even if they are the highest quality spectacles in the whole of Japan."

Tezuka chokes and stares at the man, face steadily getting redder, and even without his spectacles he’s pretty sure the other man is leering at him with a smirk on his lips. 

“Come on, I’ll check your eyes to make sure your myopia hasn’t gotten worse.”

It hasn’t gotten worse, Tezuka wants to say, but he knows that it is not true. He has been squinting at the words on the presentation slides whenever there is a faculty meeting presentation, and he has also been straining his eyes during late nights, marking essays that should be more legibly written. But students apparently have bigger concerns than their young teacher’s failing eyesight and rising blood pressure, if the mess he receives on weekly basis is any indication. So he gets up to follow the man, reading his name tag for future reference. He can’t keep referring him as “that man that may have been flirting with me when I bought my spectacles”, Kikumaru and Fuji may bust a lung laughing at him.

“Keigo” he reads, squinting at the name tag, while the man (Keigo, apparently) waits patiently for him to make sense of his name tag.

He thinks Keigo may be laughing at him, if the slight shaking of his shoulders is any indication, but he doesn't say anything incriminating and leads Tezuka to the backroom, an area bigger than his entire room together. Tezuka barely refrains from gawking at the plush couches lining the mirrored walls, reflecting the light from a ceiling light that looks no less expensive despite being not as showy as the chandeliers he’d seen earlier.  Then he sports a chart with neat Hiragana written on it on a wall; finally something here resembles all the spectacle shops he has been in. Even if the chart seemed to have some squiggly lines at the borders. Some carvings then, Tezuka thinks, and sits, back straight, at the couch so helpfully gestured by Keigo. It sinks under his weight, and it is highly tempting for him to lean back, to relax against the cushions, but he has more self-discipline than that, so he continues sitting upright as Keigo comes back, wheeling a cart that looks clean enough to eat off, containing prescription lenses of all degrees.

“Here let me help you with that.” Before Tezuka can say anything, Keigo helps him put on a pair of lens frames that sit comfortably on the bridge of his nose, fingers brushing the skin on his temples, touch feather-light, lingering behind his ears as he makes sure none of his hair gets trapped in the frame.

Tezuka can smell the faint scent of Keigo’s cologne as he bends slightly to better check the fit, and the sheer proximity to a near-stranger (good-looking he may be) makes Tezuka antsy and before Tezuka can tell Keigo that the frames fit fine, he makes the mistake of looking up at him, and even with the clunky test frames he can see how close Keigo is to him, from the blue of his eyes, the length of his lashes, to his tiny beauty mark below his right eye and the curve of his lips.  

 

The lips that curve into a smile, with eyes that look entirely too fond, too  _intimate,_  at a generic customer.

  

Tezuka feels heat creep up his face in the mere seconds and promptly decides to focus on the hiragana board with determined desperation exhibited more often by his students cramming outside an examination hall, and to his relief, Keigo doesn’t push the issue, merely adding lenses and removing them according to Tezuka’s responses.

 

If he brushes Tezuka’s temples more than once, he makes no mention of it. Tezuka doesn’t either, for some reason, he finds those brushes oddly soothing, he must have been alone for too long, starved for human contact; there is no other reason why he would be so willing to endure brief touches to his temples, quick and light, but warm nonetheless.

 

“So how’s this? Read the characters please.” And Tezuka does, the new combination of lenses make everything a lot sharper than his old pair; he can even read the tiny hiragana characters at the bottom of the chart, with this pair of spectacles, he may even decipher Kirihara’s terrible writing (the more sensible part of his brain snorts at this, no lens in the world can make Kirihara’s writing legible, one needs Sanada to put the fear of proper penmanship in him).

“This is perfect.” Tezuka points at the combination of lenses perched on his nose, and he doesn’t need them to see the brilliance of Keigo’s smile, or the familiar brush of warm fingers on his temples.

 

(When he makes payment for his spectacles, he finds a string of numbers totally unfamiliar to him scrawled elegantly-if there can be such a thing- at the bottom. He folds it carefully and pockets it in his wallet, next to a photo of his parents and grandfather.)      


End file.
